So I decided to watch Kung-Fu Panda 2 one day. At the end I grew really irritated at the emotions and motives of villains, so I decided to write one.

Used  Loopyloo's picture called One-legged Stranger as a bit of a reference since I wasn't entirely sure what a jackal looked like at the time and couldn't get the picture out of my head.
You can check it out here: http://sfw.furaffinity.net/view/11159590/

The downloadable is a doc, but, as usual, you can read it all right here:

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Jackal - Suffering

"It is impossible to look upon yourself and see a monster. My beautiful grey fur turned to ashes by deeds people only dare whisper of. I meant to kill them, I meant to kill everyone - don't mishear me. But...

"Look. The world needs someone to hate. There will always be happiness if someone is there to suffer so others do not have to. I can take much pain; I have taken so much pain. Don't I deserve to be happy? When is it my time to let someone else suffer?

"Easy enough for you to look upon me as something lower than jackal, you haven't had to suffer because I've been the one saving you. Me! I saved you from the world so you could live a happy life - everyone. And then I want to have my turn in the world of the plenty and you cast me aside, slander me, and then gawk as I strike back. You all deserve to die!"

The Jackal strains against his bonds, pulls his back into an arc in the struggle to bring himself closer to the other. He is bathed in shadows by this one, and the shadow they cast swallows him so only hungry, angry, yellow eyes shine. His neck is long and might have once been proud, covered in glorious grey fur. But no matter how long a neck or how much he strains the other stands far away. Cloaked in importance with a regal face and alert ears if only to make the figure seem more important, this particular jackal grins slyly.

"An excellent speech. Are you quite done trying to twist me for mercy?" He smooths his robe, "You brought this on yourself, you know. How many did you kill? Five hundred? Five thousand?"

"You don't even know!" The first spits at him, "Do you even care? Do you?" His claws grind into the ground, trying desperately to push himself forward, "Seven thousand, three hundred and eighty-two. I know, because I care how many had to die so I could even be heard. Down to the last hair." His ear twitches, a black streak, and returns flat against his head.

But the regal jackal clothed in fine blue silk only chuckles and pads forward, very slowly. His neck stands proudly above the robe where his counterpart is forced to hunch slightly because the ceiling is purposely low in the small alcove where he is chained.

The Jackal stops pulling on the chains and takes a step back, plants his left foot on the cold stone floor behind him so he will have purchase. He glares and forms fists, feels the draft of the approaching adversary in the raising of his fur.

"Come now you foolish beast. I do not count the dead because I do not wish death upon my people." The two are so close their snouts are almost touching, "I care for their life, whereas you caused them death." Anger is creeping into his voice; his tail is growing restless and is beginning to stir the fine robes, "One death is enough. One death is too much," Every word becomes an arrow aimed at the Jackal's bear chest, "I do not need to count deaths to know you are an evil man."

And the Jackal looks at this man, clothed in importance, and at himself, hidden in shadow as always, nothing left to his name but blood, anger, and a pair of loose-fitting trousers.

He seizes the regal one at the base of the head and pulls him to his knees, anger tempered into strength and released through his arm and paw. Claws dig into the other jackal's throat and sent little beads of blood through that dirty-grey fur and into the blue of the robe.

"Hear me well," The Jackal has the regal jackal so close that he can taste the fear, "I have counted every drop of blood, every tear I have caused. I have learned to fight, I have learned to hate, I have learned myself." The words are flavoured with a snarl, "I acted because I believed in myself, in what I did. I believed I could realize a world where people didn't need to suffer because others needed to be happy. What did you believe in?"

The jackal says nothing. Fear has caught his tongue, is written on his snout, in his eyes, and upon his figure. Forced to the floor by the power of his emotions, one hand out as if to stop any further attacks; he attempts a few gasps and a stutter before working up the will to stagger to his feet. This jackal is breathing heavily, as though he has just fought a battle. So he makes it a battle by punching the Jackal in the gut. Leaving him to wheeze, this jackal feels his throat tenderly.

"We're done."

The Jackal, doubled over, roars, "Coward! Enough hiding from the truth! Face me! Enough shadows, enough fear; face yourself!"

But the regal one is already at the door, a long ways away, and the torchlight is all that remains to the Jackal. He falls to his knees, tears in his eyes.

"When is it my time to stop suffering?" He whispers to the air, because it is his only true companion. Always there, always listening. No one else can hear him, though the room echoes his sobs. No one else wants to hear him. A villain left to rot because he had enough pain.